


Christmas With John and Sherlock

by SuperWhoAvengeTrekLock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, so fricking fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoAvengeTrekLock/pseuds/SuperWhoAvengeTrekLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock celebrate Christmas day. That's pretty much it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas With John and Sherlock

John padded down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. It was early but John had never been one to sleep on Christmas morning, even when he had been stationed. It was just something he couldn't do. A small smile spread on his face as he thought of the childlike feature. He momentarily thought if it would ever go away, but then quickly thought that it's not something he's ready to lose.

He looked over to the tree that they had put up sometime after the second week in December. He didn't know when Sherlock had turned the lights on or if he never shut them off. Part of him wanted to tell him not to do something like that, he could have started a fire. But it was Christmas and anything he usually nagged about, he would let slide.

His smile returned as he thought of Sherlock. He had surprised John this year by acting like a giant child for the holiday. He had dragged John to multiple stores, discreetly —or so he thought— telling him of different things he wouldn't mind getting for Christmas. And in his endeavor to make the consulting detective happy, he had gotten everything on his verbal list. And a couple that weren't. He was sure it would surprise the man to no end that John managed to remember everything, but he did.

John had spent quite a pretty penny on one Sherlock Holmes. He had even gone to some lengths, getting Molly to "break" a few pieces of equipment for him. He didn’t know why he had the urge to make him so happy this year, but he did.

His eyes wandered under the tree, the presents overflowing. You would think they had kids living here, but no. They were all presents they were giving each other. There were a couple for Molly, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade thrown in there that they hadn’t gotten to give them before they went away for the holidays, but most of them were for each other.

He crossed his arms, laughing as he shook his head. They had gone a little overboard this year. He wondered why that was. Maybe it was because they knew each other that much better this year. Maybe it was because he was so happy to have Sherlock back in his life after the fall. But it also could have been that no one would be around this Christmas and they didn’t have anyone here to tell them that the relationship they shared was unhealthy and something more than a friendship. This year was all about them together again and John liked the feeling.

He moved toward the kitchen, setting up for coffee because they both needed something a little stronger than tea this morning. He plugged in the griddle, sighing as he moved every piece of Sherlock’s current experiment out of the way. After today, that would be no more. He and Mrs. Hudson had worked out a deal. Sherlock’s new lab would be 221C.

As the bacon began to spit and splatter grease everywhere, John hummed a Christmas tune, feeling in the spirit. He was in for a long day of cooking. After they opened presents, the army doctor would immediately start cooking the turkey Sherlock insisted they have. It was only them this year so he didn’t know why he insisted, but he had.

He began to whip the batter and make pancakes; Sherlock’s favorite, when he ate of course.

Not having anything to do at the moment, he moved into the hallway, humming as he went, entering Sherlock’s room.

He smiled, his humming coming to a hault.

Sherlock was sprawled across the bed. John chuckled, shaking his head at the man. This was how he usually slept. It never ceased to amaze him how he could get any sleep in the position he was in. He was flat on his stomach, facing away from the door; diagonally. His left arm was curled into his side whereas his right arm was resting on the other side of the bed as if he had been reaching for something and then stopped. His left left foot was dangling off his mattress, his right bend upward.

The sight, in John's opinion made him look like a giant child. But it was the way he was dressed that made John remember he wasn't. He was clad in only boxers. They were red and the man in the doorway guessed it was because of the holiday.

His smile dropped as he became entranced with Sherlock's body. His back muscles were small but defined. He realized that he had been thinking about the man's body in quite a few ways lately. Some times it was the small things. Sherlock's hand would brush against his, or they'd bump shoulders. Sometimes though, it was big things. Sherlock would come out of the bathroom after having a shower, the towel hanging dangerously low on his hips or when the consulting detective would parade around in just that damned sheet. One day last week, the man had fallen asleep on the couch from lack of rest. His sheet had hung open, exposing everything. John remembered how he had blushed and scurried out of the room when it had happened.

Right now, all he could think about was reaching out his hands and touching the fabric that looked like silk. Or maybe it was satin. The shiny fabric drew him forward. Surely Sherlock would never know and then he could go on pretending like it never happened. His fingers were inches away from the fabric when he heard a grumble. His hand reeled back as if he had been burned, gasping a little, and his body starting from being startled.

Sherlock groaned, rolling over and rubbing his eye as he did so. “John?”

John smiled. “Happy Christmas, sleepy head. I came into tell you about–” John gasped, realizing he was cooking. “Breakfast!” he shouted, cursing under his breath and ran toward the kitchen.

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards at the brief moment. It was amazing how distracted John was these days. The man in the bed supposed it had something to do with them getting back in the swing of things. It had been almost six months since his return. So John had every right to still be a little rusty with the idea of living with someone.

He sat up, his feet hitting the cold floor. It was so cold, he recoiled, aiming for his slippers this time as he did so. He stood; stretching his muscles with a grunt and grabbing the sheet off of his bed. That was really all he needed.

A smile plastered itself on his face as he dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen.

As he walked in, he could see the look of relief on John's face that meant he hadn't burned anything.

John smiled up at him. “I thought you didn't buy presents for anyone? As I recall, I had to buy Mycroft's gifts and say they were from both of us.”

“Well you're not just anyone, John. Surely you should know that by now,” he said with a small smile as John put his coffee in front of him, knowing how he liked it.

“Cheeky git,” the army doctor muttered. “Well I am going to cook breakfast and then we can open gifts. Why don't you go watch Doctor Who or something? It's Christmas so no deducing. No work what-so-ever. I don't care if the Queen herself comes through those doors with a case, today is about relaxing and having fun. We haven't a day off since you've been back.”

Sherlock gave a small chuckle before setting a straight face once more. “Whatever you say.”

And really, Sherlock had no problem with relaxing today. John had been right; they hadn't had a day off since he had gotten back. It had been back to back cases. He had even solved some that had been left open while he was gone. Lestrade practically begged him to.

He sauntered over to the chair, coffee in hand, and turned on the TV as he watched John from the corner of his eyes. He wasn't even sure what he was watching at the moment. All he was seeing was his partner mulling about the kitchen, singing to himself.

It had taken some convincing on Sherlock's part. John had been apprehensive about the holiday, telling him that they didn't need to celebrate it. But what John didn't know was that the consulting detective was looking for a way to woo the unsuspecting man.

It had started when he had reentered John's life. He suspected it started before that, but he put the time stamp as the week he had come back.

He never understood what had changed in his heart. Maybe it was him being away from the blond for so long. Maybe it was the fact that while he was gone, John started sleeping with his gun in his nightstand drawer, closer than he had ever kept it. He hadn't expected it but when he had returned, he felt something different for John. He knows now that it's love or at least something akin to it. He's never felt this way for another person. So he assumes that that's what it is.

When he discovered his feelings, he had never felt more lost. He didn't know why his heart was beating faster or why his stomach would feel strange. He didn't know why he would look down at John and suddenly his words would stop. It was like he would be so distracted that he couldn't look at John during a case or he would lose any train of thought he had.

He smiled at the thought. He liked knowing he was capable of such feelings. For so long he thought that the only love he would ever have would be for his work. He didn't like being wrong, but every once in a while, it was humbling. And in this case he didn't mind.

“Sherlock! Come eat!” he said, only yelling over the telly.

Sherlock launched himself out of the chair gracefully, coming to sit across the counter from John. His breakfast looked lovely. Pancakes drenched in sweet syrup, sausages adjoining the breakfast, with a small plate of bacon off to the side, and a glass of milk as well. He smiled as he began to tuck himself into his breakfast.

John chuckled to himself. “You know, one day you are going to get that so dirty and filthy we are going to have to go get you an entire new bed set. You really must find something else to where,” he said with a smile because he knew something Sherlock didn't. He had gotten him a robe for Christmas.

“Maybe one day. But not today. Besides, I like my sheet. It's been to Buckingham palace. How many people can say that?”

John chuckled again, picking at his breakfast and enjoying the taste of it. He didn't like to compliment himself but he had to admit, it was a very good breakfast. One of his best.

They ate in companionable silence. They could hear Doctor Who in the background and by the sounds of it, John had deduced that it was the tenth doctor.

When Sherlock was done, he pulled at John's arm like a child. “C'mon John. It's time for you to open your gifts!”

John laughed as Sherlock pulled him to the living room, him stuffing the last of his bacon in his mouth.

He grabbed his coffee and watched Sherlock sit under the tree like an actual child and start organizing the presents into two separate piles; his and John’s.

He smiled behind his coffee mug as Sherlock picked one up that was small and square. He looked at it with speculation as if trying to deduce what it was just by the weight and size of the box. John hummed, wondering if Sherlock was actually that good.

The consulting detective looked up with a slight tint to his cheeks before putting it in his pile and continuing to sort them. When he finished, John pinched his lips together to keep himself from laughing. He looked like a wounded puppy, thinking that John barely got him anything. Most of his things were upstairs.

He reached for a present but John stopped him. “Uh-uh. Stockings first.”

Sherlock pouted just a bit but took his stocking nonetheless.

John smiled at that. He was glad that he was one of the only people that ever saw Sherlock like this. When he was sweet and childlike instead of deducing and like a machine. John preferred this Sherlock even if he was hard to bring out. He would always put in the effort though.

Sherlock finished his stocking about the same time John did. He had put little things in there like candy, some patches (since he refused to give him cigarettes), and other small trinkets he thought would occupy the man’s mind for about a minute before he moved on.

Sherlock grabbed for a gift, picking up the small one and bouncing it slightly in his hands, seeing if he could figure out what was in it before he opened.

John sucked his teeth. “Oh, just open it already.”

The man gave him a sideways grin before ripping into the paper. As soon as he ripped it open, he saw that the box was obviously housing a phone, seeing as the phone’s picture was plastered all over the box.

John smiled when Sherlock looked up at him, just a little confused. He had just gotten a new phone a little over a month ago. “I got you this phone,” he started explaining as Sherlock opened it. “because I am tired of bringing laptop’s on cases where you don’t think it’s necessary to leave the house. I got myself one too. It comes with a feature that allows us to video chat.”

Sherlock smiled. Only John would think of something like that. He put down the phone, promising himself that he would play with it later. He picked up a present for John and handed it to him without saying anything. A blush tinted his cheeks but he hoped it wasn’t noticeable.

Sherlock wasn’t used to giving anyone things. He wasn’t used to caring what someone else thought. And he wasn’t used to looking for acceptance.

John looked down at the gift. It was large but if fit on his lap. He looked at as he ripped through the paper, his jaw hanging open as he looked at the package. It was the laptop he thought about getting for himself. It turned into a tablet and it had hours of battery. It was really expensive.

“Sherlock… You really shouldn’t have…”

“Don’t be silly, John. I wanted to. I broke your laptop so it’s the least I could do.”

John smiled fondly. He doesn’t know how or when they got here. Where Sherlock would put John above almost everything. If he was sick or hurt, Sherlock wouldn’t take a case until he got better or convinced him that he was fine and that he should go.

And god forbid he get hurt on a case. Sherlock had mercilessly shot one man, without aiming, because he had been shot in the leg and then monologued about how no one is allowed to hurt him. The guy didn’t die, but he was put into the ICU for quite a bit before they were able to arrest him. The worst part? John didn’t even berate him. He didn’t tell him that it was reckless or that he shouldn’t have done it. Why? Because he had been flattered.

The rest of the gifts were opened in comfortable silence. They had gotten each other clothes and trinkets. There were gadgets and Sherlock had gotten an abundance of new things for his experiments and he loved the new robe.

“I have something to show you," John said with a smile.

He reached deep into his own robe pocket, his fingers touching the silk scarf he had borrowed from Mrs. Hudson.

They both stood. “Before I show you, you need to put this on,” he said as he showed him the scarf. Sherlock reached for the scarf but John stopped him with a smirk on his face and stated, “As if I’m going to let you put this on yourself. You’ll find a way to peek through it,” he voiced and stood on the tip of his toes and tied it around his head.

Sherlock smiled at him, but said nothing and let him. He wouldn’t have tried to peek until they had gotten wherever they were going. In all honesty, he was surprised that John had a surprise to give him. John wasn’t all that great at keeping secrets and this seemed to be a pretty big one.

“Stop waving your hand in front of my face,” he said with a smirk. He couldn’t see but he had a feeling that’s what John was doing. Okay, it wasn’t a feeling. He knew John better than he knew anyone else.

John huffed, hands on his hips. “Can you see through it?”

“No. I just know you too well.”

John started to lead him forward and maneuver him around furniture and out of the flat, telling him to hold his hand and follow the sound of his voice. Sherlock had a working knowledge of the entire flat. It wasn’t hard to figure out that John was leading him out and up the stairs.

John’s hand was heavy in his. John’s hands were strong, gripping him with a purpose and not letting go. He had felt that grip so many times in the past but it was the first time since he had realized his feelings for the man. He applied just a bit of pressure himself, wanting to remember the way this felt. How it made his stomach flip. He would write it all down later.

The blond smiled at their joined hands as he led him up the stairs. Sherlock’s hands were thin and soft. It was normal for him to watch them attack the violin at night or in the middle of a case. It wasn’t odd for him to watch the taller man in general. He moved with a grace that he’d never seen with anyone else, so the man did catch his eye.

And really, it didn’t seem like Sherlock minded one bit. If anything, he condoned it. Sherlock noticed everything, so John knew it was only a matter of time before he noticed the extra glances or John watching him storm about the flat during a case. It was when, instead of doing something hectic, he deposited himself in John’s lap complaining of boredom that he realized that Sherlock knew he was watching him.

John blushed as he remembered that day. He had been sitting in the oversized chair when Sherlock had just plopped into his lap, straddling him. Sherlock hadn’t realized he was doing it, or at least he doesn’t think he did, when he bounced up and down against the blond, whining about not having a case. It hadn’t taken long for blood to run south in John’s body. That had been the day John realized that he wanted more out of their relationship. It had also been the day that he realized what Sherlock had told him from the beginning; he was married to work. A hope for a relationship with the great Sherlock Holmes was improbable.

“John, why are you leading me upstairs? Wouldn’t it have been easier to put whatever it is in the flat?”

John chuckled. “You’ll see.”

They reached 221C, John pushed the door open, and looked around. It was just how he had left it. Which was a good thing.

He smiled big, not being able to wait any longer for Sherlock to see it. “Alright. You can take the blindfold off.”

Sherlock untied the knot of silk from the back of his head. He looked up and his jaw hung open. It wasn’t easy to surprise Sherlock holmes, but John had done it.

“Welcome to your new lab, Sherlock.”

The whole room was painted white but the top half of the walls were lined with glass. Trays jutted out from underneath them and the were lined with markers of every color. Equipment that could only be found at the Morgue, machines that did everything, had somehow been transported here. The table down the middle of the room was long and steel. Test tubes, goggles, gloves, and microscopes lined the table. There was a heating stove as well as a sink and an emergency shower.

Sherlock stepped forward. He never thought that someone would ever do anything like this for him. This was special and… his mother wouldn’t have even done this for him. Suddenly he ran around the space, looking at the different things.

“This is brilliant! All these things how did you get them?”

John shrugged. He was acting like it was no big deal, when in actuality it was. He had been working on this plan since September. “I got Molly to “break” a few equipment pieces, a lot of it can be found online, and a lot of it’s yours. I just thought you needed a larger space to work in than our kitchen, I can finally stop seeing body parts next to food, and you don’t have to rent a lab.”

As he came full circle around the lab, he stopped short in front of John, their eyes meeting.

Sherlock’s not sure what made him do it. Maybe it was the fact that John was wonderful in everyway or maybe it was the way John was so nice to him. It could have been that just for a moment, a tiny dull moment, his brain stopped thinking logically and he acted on impulse.

John’s eyes widened as Sherlock’s long fingers cupped his cheeks and pulled him forward for a crushing kiss. It only took a moment to register that the man was kissing him. When he did, his eyes closed and he melted into the kiss, a hand coming up to grip his wrist, trying to tell him not to let go; not to stop.

Sherlock’s brain had gone into overdrive the minute his lips touched John’s. He couldn’t help but think ‘What have I done?’ But John’s lips were suddenly pushing back against his, a sensation he had not felt in years. A sensation he had deleted because all that mattered was the work. That had change drastically as of this moment.

Their brains shut down, not able to think about anything except this, except what was happening. They weren’t thinking of the possible consequences, or right or wrong. They could only think about how good this felt and how long they had waited for it.

The kiss was chaste and close-lipped. But it was bruising, the amount of pressure they were kissing each other with, as if they were holding on for dear life.

They broke apart, eyes staring and lips just slightly tinted pink.

“I–”

John smiled as he interrupted; “Please don’t apologize, Sherlock. I wanted it too.”

Sherlock smirked. “Very well.”

* * *

  
  


They were curled up on the couch; waiting for the turkey to cook. They hadn’t changed out of their pajamas, not leaving the others site for more than a minute. Part of them thought that if they did that, the magic would disappear, the other would change their mind and they would no longer be wanted.

The relaxing was nice even though John knew he was going to have to get up soon because the sides for the turkey would need to be made soon.

Sherlock had his arm around John’s shoulder and the blond had his head on his chest. They were watching something, but neither was paying particular attention to the program. All they could think about was each other.

John smiled and looked up, his hand on Sherlock’s chest. He tugged on it just a bit to get the consulting detective’s attention, who looked down at him, something in his eyes that he couldn’t read. It was puzzling.

“What are you thinking about?” John asked suddenly.

“Everything,” he answered, a smirk on his face, the one that he always used when he gave a smart ass answer.

John rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Cheeky git.”

The smirk didn’t fall from his face, it stayed as he brought John closer, an action that betrayed everything he’d ever said about love, relationships, and couples. He didn’t mind though. John was different; he always had been.

“Would it make you happy if I lied and said I was thinking only about you?”

John chuckled and shook his head. “Most people would take that offensively.” And it was true. Most people would blanch had someone said that to him if they were in a relationship— which they had decided they were in only an hour ago.

Most people would get mad and be hurt about what he said. But John knew Sherlock. He was always thinking about everything which meant John was in there somewhere. It didn’t matter to him that Sherlock didn’t think about him constantly. He thought about him, and really, just the thought of that is nice.

“You’re not most people,” Sherlock stated, a tiny note of happiness in his voice.

And that was true as well. John had never been most people. He had been taken with Sherlock the moment he met him. Maybe he didn’t realize how much until after the fall, but Sherlock had always held a special place in his heart, and Sherlock knew that.

The blond smiled wider and pulled him down for a kiss.

Sherlock’s hand found John’s hip, fingers digging into the bone, very possibly leaving bruising fingerprints. But John didn’t mind, and if he did, he said nothing.

Their small kisses turned into heated ones with tongues lapping and teeth clashing. It was messy and unchoreographed and new and just downright lovely; and they couldn’t get enough.

John grasped the lapels of Sherlock’s new robe and pulled him down until he was laying on top of him.

Sherlock let him do it, this sensation like new to him. It had been so long since he had done anything like this—over ten years. It was thrilling and exciting. It made his head spin just a bit like it did when he was on a case. This is what it felt like when he would solve the puzzle. John was his own personal puzzle.

John opened Sherlock’s robe and let his hands glide over soft, smooth, creamy skin. The skin he had thought about touching so many times but had decided against it. Now, he wished he had taken the chance.

A moan escaped Sherlock’s throat and John swallowed it.

John broke the kiss, needing to breathe. They looked into each other’s eyes, smiles adjoining their faces.

John lifted his hand to cup Sherlock’s face, not being able to think that this was how they belonged; together. “Happy Christmas, Sherlock.”

“Happy Christmas, John.”

  


End file.
